


The Ship and the Years

by asuninside



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-05
Updated: 2014-05-05
Packaged: 2018-01-22 00:14:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1569005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asuninside/pseuds/asuninside
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt is eight years old the first time he sees the ship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ship and the Years

Kurt is eight years old the first time he sees the ship. He’s standing on the damp sand of the beach watching his father mend a leak in a neighbour’s canoe.

He’s paid them for the repair both in silver coin and in sweets from the mainland that are sharply sugary and so many colors that Kurt is dazzled by them.

He doesn’t want to eat them; he wants to wear them on his wrists and neck. His mother would have loved them.

The ship crawls lazily through the mist on a path of rolling sea. Kurt has never seen a real ship before, only pictures. It’s enormous, blue-painted, and has big, billowing white sails.

Across one gleaming side painted letters lie, scarlet as summer. He’s never seen anything so magnificent.

He watches the ship’s progress through the endless waves for as long as it continues to move. When it’s finally out of sight, he sighs and goes back to watching his father.

*

It’s Kurt’s eleventh birthday and he can’t stop crying. Nobody had come to his birthday party. Not Raechelle, the girl who played pretend with him all last summer, not Britta who sometimes lets Kurt braid her long, yellow hair, and worst of all, not Finneus.

He had really wanted Finneus to come. At a quarter to six, he’d had to accept that nobody was coming for tea and cake.

Nobody would see him in the jacket he’d managed to sew all by himself for the occasion. Nobody would sing or give him cards.

He couldn’t bear the idea of a celebration with just his father, not after all his careful planning. He’d raced out the door and down to the beach to be alone.

He’s still there, sitting with his knees drawn to his chest, letting the salt water from his eyes fall and mingle with the salt water lapping against his toes in gentle waves.

As the lambent light of sunset washes over the island, he calms. This is the best time of day, when the sea glistens like the scales of the fish that dwell in it. He lifts his head to look at the horizon.

There’s a ship there, gliding through the glistering ocean. Kurt blinks. He knows this ship. It’s much closer than it was all those years ago, he can make out a figure standing on the deck, peering over the rail. It’s so close he can even discern features. 

He’s sure it’s a boy, small of frame but probably close to his own age. His hair is dark as midnight and ripples like water. Kurt stands, wades into the tide for a better look.

The boy’s gaze seems to be fixed directly on him, but Kurt can’t be sure. He waves his hand in greeting. To his astonishment, the boy waves back without a moment’s hesitation.

Kurt can’t help but smile delightedly and the boy’s face mirrors his, mouth turning up at the corners. He isn’t so close that Kurt can see the hue of the boy’s eyes, but he’s certain that they’re just as bright as his smile.

They watch each other, sometimes waving, sometimes pulling faces, until the night falls and they disappear from each other’s sight.

*

When Kurt is fourteen, the ship comes again. He isn’t quite so alone anymore. Raechelle and he have grown fond of each other, and he’s found friends in Mikael, and Mercy, and Samlin, and Tynna. The strangest change of all is that he’s found a brother in Finneus.

His father’s decision to take a second wife may have been due in part to Kurt’s careful persuasion, but it was no less of a shock to him when the object of his childish affections had begun sleeping on a cot across the room from him.

He’s spent a pleasurable several hours with Tynna and Mercy, collecting sea glass and telling stories, but it’s evening now, the last day before week’s end, and his father is expecting him.

He calls goodbye to the girls and begins to ascend the long, sloping dune that leads to the beach where his father works.

He’s nearly there, can see his father’s broad back curled over in a hunch as he hammers away at a stubborn nail, when he sees it.

 He’d almost forgotten. How had he almost forgotten? He races to the shore, ignoring his father’s shouted greeting. The boy from before his standing right up against the railing.

The ship is near the place it was before, and he doubts the boy would hear him, even if he yelled until his throat was raw. He settles instead for waving frantically and hopping up and down like a madman.

He’s dimly aware of his father coming closer, saying something, asking questions, but he continues to ignore him. He waves with both arms flung high above his head.

It works. The boy turns his head slightly, catches sight of Kurt, and _oh_ , his face brightens like the morning. A grin spreads over his face and he begins to wave. He opens his mouth, and Kurt’s sure he’s speaking to him, but he cannot hear.

He isn’t sure how to convey this with gestures, so he lets his arms drop and stares at the boy forlornly.

He continues to speak. Kurt makes a noise of frustration and raises a hand again, not to wave, but to point at his ear.

This time he understands. Kurt watches his expression turn gloomy. Kurt understands. He wishes he could speak to this boy; wants to know his name and where he comes from, and why his visits are so infrequent. He wants to know why he never comes ashore.

Echoing the past, they make do with simply watching each other until the ship fades from view.

*

Nothing much has changed by the time Kurt is seventeen. He’s grown taller, certainly, his soft edges have become angles, his companions feel more like family than playmates; but in essence, Kurt is the same.

The ship has taken up residence at the back of his brain; behind newer memories of joyful days and grim ones, behind music and poetry, behind friendships and foes, but it’s there.

The blue ship on blue water, with its sails and its boy.

He wishes sometimes. Wonders sometimes.

What might he have done all those years ago had the ship not come? What if he had run down to the beach on his eleventh birthday and fallen face-first in waves? What if he hadn’t found a reason to smile?

He shakes his head to clear his mind. He’s happy now. He doesn’t need the ship or anything it represents. People love him. He has a new mother and brother and his steadfast, unchanging hero of a father; the hardest worker he knows, the kindest man on land or sea.

Still. He can’t help but let his feet carry him down that well-worn path; a path abraded by oceans of time and his own two feet.

It’s early evening and the sun is beginning to set, to stir and shift in the deep, endless sky, as if preparing to dip its rays like warm toes in the freezing sea.

He tips back his head and closes his eyes, basking in the lowlight and breathing in salt air.

For a few moments he’s floating, out of body, out of mind, soaring birdlike above the water.

When he opens his eyes again, he sighs. He’s still firmly on land, staring up at the rosy heavens with his feet buried deep in the sand.

He lowers his gaze, looks straight ahead, and nearly loses his breath.

The ship is closer than ever before, and _oh_ he could to dance for joy. Instinctually, he raises a hand to wave, then pauses, frowns, lets it drop back to his side. Nobody is on the deck of the ship.

There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s the same ship.

He feels suddenly cold, and wraps his arms about himself. He’s been silly, acting as though it was a law of life that the ship would return and bring his boy with it. The boy. Not his, never his.

He stares at the ship, throat clenched tight. It’s so close, close enough that they would surely be able to speak- and hear- this time. But there’s no use dreaming about would and could. 

He turns to go.

There’s a shout from behind him.

Kurt whirls back around, looks right and left for the source of the noise. The ship is still there, surrounded on all sides by water.

Is he imagining things?

The shout comes again, from far to his left. He squints at the expanse of beach, and suddenly, he sees it.

There’s a small canoe docked haphazardly, half in sand, half in surf, and beside it, beside it is-

Kurt breaks into a run and sees the figure do the same.

Hair dark as moonset, a compact body, a smiling face- and then he’s being hugged so fiercely he thinks he might never draw breath properly again, and doesn’t care.

When they step apart, the first thing he does is search his eyes. They’re brown flecked with gold, alive with warmth.

“I-” the boy starts, then stops, clears his throat. “I’ve been looking for you my whole life.”

Something akin to sunlight floods Kurt’s heart and mind then. He nods, whispers, “Me too,” and pulls the boy in again and feels his heart thudding wildly against Kurt’s own chest. “My name is Blaine,” he says quietly.

Blaine. One simple syllable, and Kurt is sure it’s name of the rest of his life.

“Kurt,” he says, and closes his eyes. In Blaine’s arms he’s floating, out of body, out of mind, soaring birdlike above the water.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> 1) It's not that I don't write fanfic in my own writing style, it's just that I usually tone it down. This time though, I went full on Izbit: poetic-prose, indeterminable time period/universe/location, the whole bit. Doing that is obviously rather daunting for me, so I'm a little nervous putting it out into the universe. 
> 
> 2) If you have any interest in a sexy sequel, let me know. I'd definitely be down to write it!


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